


Seasons at Kaer Morhen

by ginkyou



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Autumn, Childhood, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Gen, Growing Up, Slice of Life, Spring, Summer, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 19:38:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14385714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginkyou/pseuds/ginkyou
Summary: Glimpses into Geralt's youth at Kaer Morhen told as four drabbles of 100 words each, one for each season of the year.





	Seasons at Kaer Morhen

**Author's Note:**

> These aren't chronological or taken from the same year so they don't really tell a bigger story all together. They're just snippets, glimpses, scenes from everyday life at Kaer Morhen.  
> These are actually the first "classic" drabbles I've ever written – I wrote a few song drabbles (i.e. put your music on shuffle, write a fic inspired by each song for as long as the song goes) back in my very early fandom days but never did any 100 word ones. Turns out it's actually quite the challenge! I did these originally just to take a quick break from working on my larger Geralt/Gaunter fic, but ended up spending quite a bit of time and having a lot of fun trying to get all of these to exactly 100 words each. Hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoyed writing them!  
> Unbeta'd as always.

_**Spring** _

“Damn it!” Branches rustle as the frightened hare scurries off. A second crossbow bolt hisses through the air, trying to do the job its predecessor could not, but it is too late – the creature is already gone, vanished into the thick, lush underbrush.

“Give it up,” Geralt says, the slightest hint of a snide, yet affectionate grin on his face. “At this rate you’ll be done with the Trials and out on the Path before you ever get the hang of crossbows.”

Eskel laughs and throws his crossbow at Geralt, but doesn’t manage to hit his target this time, either.

 

_**Summer** _

The cold water hits Geralt like a fist. He sinks quickly, a flurry of air bubbles around him, limbs frozen into paralysis. Currents grab at his feet; the way upwards seems like an eternity, the icy claws of the lake pulling at him with every stroke of his arms.

He breaks the surface with a loud gasp, gulping in fresh, hot air.

“Fuck, that was amazing!” he yells, voice cracking in delight, at the boys standing on the cliff above him. A second later, Eskel hits the water next to him, then the others follow with gleeful whoops and hollers.

 

_**Autumn** _

Smoke billows from Kaer Morhen in thick, white clouds. They drift heavily through the air, filling the ancient castle with the smell of burning wood. Boys and men, some already cat-eyed, some not, are hard at work in the courtyards, smoke-curing meat for the winter.

Upwind from the smokehouses and the fires, Geralt sits and sulks. His hair is white. It has been so for merely a week, yet some of the other boys have already called him names for it. They might be becoming witchers, but they’re still just boys. Boys who mock. Boys whose pride can get hurt.

 

_**Winter** _

“And that is how I defeated the Queen of the Werewolves,” the witcher finishes. The boys sitting around him clap excitedly. Geralt, in the middle of them, whispers a dry remark to Eskel and Eskel snickers.

The older witchers, hunched over their beers and vodkas at the table, scoff. One drinks a sarcastic toast to the heroic monsterslayer.

Despite their demeanor, they’re all secretly glad for the tale. It doesn’t matter that it is obviously exaggerated beyond recognition – good stories keep the cold at bay, and that is all that matters when the wind is howling and snowstorms rage outside.


End file.
